<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Night After by elxetera</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25955254">The Night After</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/elxetera/pseuds/elxetera'>elxetera</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Fluff and Angst, Honestly I don't know what to tag this, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Scene: The Bus Ride (Good Omens), Sharing a Bed, So don't worry, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), There Is Only One Bed, but then fluff, these two also like to tease each other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:13:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25955254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/elxetera/pseuds/elxetera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Aziraphale looks back to Crowley. If he was being honest, he supposed, given everything that’s happened, he didn’t particularly want to be alone tonight. </em><br/>Or, Aziraphale and Crowley spend the night together after averting Armageddon.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>127</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Night After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! I'll be honest here and tell you that this was a very fun fic for me to write, and I hope you all will enjoy it, too. It's been in my brain since I first watched Good Omens and I've been itching to write it and I finally got the chance (and inspiration). I know it's kind of a fandom cliché, but I love that we (for the most part) adopted the fact that Aziraphale and Crowley spend the night at Crowley's flat. I think it's absolutely adorable. </p><p>A huge thank you to my wonderful beta <a href="https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/KaytheJay/pseuds/KaytheJay">KaytheJay</a>! (You can also find her on <a href="https://justanangelandhisdemon.tumblr.com/">tumblr!</a>) You are one tough cookie but your edits make my stories what they are, and if it wasn't for you who knows what state my writing would be in, haha. </p><p>Anyway, I hope you like this!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand. Or, at least he thinks he does. It is possible that <em> Crowley </em> has taken <em> his </em> hand, and that he just hasn’t noticed it. He doesn’t know which one it is, but he does not  care. He just knows that now he is sitting next to Crowley on a bus headed for London, with his fingers entwined in the demon’s. </p><p>Neither of them speak. They both want to, given everything that’s happened, but perhaps that is why they don’t. There are just some things that cannot be put into words, averting Armageddon being one of them. </p><p>Aziraphale looks at Crowley from the corner of his eye. He looks like an utter wreck. His head is resting up against the window that is covered in a film of dirt and fingerprints, lolling every now and then as the bus hits a bump in the road. His clothes are rumpled and covered in soot, every inch of him looking plain exhausted. “Crowley?” says Aziraphale softly, so as not to disturb the other passengers on the bus.</p><p>“Hm,” Crowley responds. Through the dark tint of his sunglasses, Aziraphale can see that his eyes are closed, and he can feel Crowley’s hold on his hand slacken slightly. </p><p>“Put your head on my shoulder. It will probably be more comfortable than that window,” Aziraphale says. Crowley inhales deeply and shifts in his seat before positioning his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Better?” Aziraphale asks. </p><p>Crowley nods. “Thanks, Angel.”  </p><p>They lapse back into silence until they reach London. The few other passengers around them mumble words of confusion and some complain to the bus driver, but Aziraphale calms them down with a simple gesture of his hand. The passengers get off the bus and head for the pub down the street, now laughing and chatting amongst themselves. </p><p>“Crowley, we are here,” Aziraphale says, nudging the demon who has nestled himself comfortably against Aziraphale. “I’m not sure how much longer I will be able to keep this driver, so we must go, now.”</p><p>Crowley grunts softly and sits up. He rubs a hand tiredly across his face but follows Aziraphale off the bus. Aziraphale blesses the bus driver quickly and thanks him, making sure to give him a rather large tip before joining Crowley on the curb. </p><p>“You’ll have to show me which one is yours,” Aziraphale says. </p><p>Crowley nods. “Come on,” he replies. </p><p>He leads Aziraphale to his flat, fumbling around in his pocket for the keys before eventually miracling them into existence with a bit of irritation. He turns them in the lock and nudges the door open with his shoulder. </p><p>“Welcome to <em> mi casa </em>,” Crowley says, plastering a tired smile on his face. He gestures to the front room and Aziraphale steps in. The place is dark and cool with a large window facing Westminster in front of a desk with an extravagant velvet chair. Houseplants of all sizes are distributed along the room in different pots. The floors are slick, shiny and clean, except for one spot that is covered in—</p><p>“Erm, Crowley?” </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>“W-what’s this?” Aziraphale says, pointing to a pile of clothes lying in a puddle. He stares at Crowley, bewildered. </p><p>“Oh, that,” Crowley says casually. He stares at the puddle for a long time before glancing back up at Aziraphale. “Say hello to Ligur.” </p><p>“Ligur? What—Crowley! What happened?”  Aziraphale asks in alarm. </p><p>“Hastur and Ligur came for me, so I just wanted to make sure I was prepared.” He shrugs.  You know. The usual.” Crowley takes a step towards the puddle of holy water. </p><p>“No, <em> don’t </em>!” Aziraphale exclaims. “I’ll clean it up. Don’t you touch it.” </p><p>Crowley holds his hands up. “Alright, you’re the boss,” he says. </p><p>“Crowley this is <em> not </em>funny,” Aziraphale scolds. </p><p>“Some people use humor as a coping mechanism,” Crowley says. Aziraphale glares at him. </p><p>“Just…stand back. This will only take a moment,” Aziraphale says, waving his hand slowly over the holy water. It immediately is absorbed into the palm of his hand, twisting like a mini tornado as it is sucked away. “There. Done,” Aziraphale says as he stands and brushes himself off. </p><p>“Right,” says Crowley. He chews on his lower lip for a minute, contemplating whether he should just go to bed for the night or be hospitable for Aziraphale. He decides on the latter, despite his exhaustion. “I have wine somewhere. Would you like any?” he asks, trying to make himself look like he has more energy than he does.<br/>
Aziraphale just stares at him, clearly seeing through the facade. “We just had wine didn’t we?” </p><p>Crowley shrugs. “We also just stopped the world from ending. Let’s have some more.” </p><p>Aziraphale says nothing and follows Crowley further into the room where he takes a seat on a rather large, dark sofa. </p><p>Crowley disappears into a neighboring room and returns a moment later, a bottle of red wine and two glasses in hand. “The sound of heaven,” he murmurs as the liquid pours into the glass. He hands one to Aziraphale. They drink in tranquility until Crowley speaks. </p><p>“So,” he says between sips of wine, “bed or sofa?” </p><p>Aziraphale looks up, puzzled. “What?”<br/>
<br/>
“I said, bed or sofa?” Crowley repeats. </p><p>“Uh, I’m not sure,  Aziraphale takes another sip of wine, shifting awkwardly. “I’ll take the sofa,” he says after a moment. </p><p>Crowley snaps his fingers and a blanket miracles into existence. “Here,” he says, handing it to the angel. Aziraphale takes it apprehensively, as though he is afraid it may bite him. </p><p>“Shower’s down the hall, through the bedroom and to the left. If you want it, of course. You can always just...miracle yourself clean, I suppose,” he adds. “You sure you don’t want the bed?” Crowley asks. He downs the remnants of his wine and then looks at Aziraphale. </p><p>Aziraphale pauses a moment, staring towards the door as though he were going to escape.  Crowley is asking him to spend the night. In his flat. On his sofa, or in his bed. He looks at Crowley, who stares back at him, his gaze neither pressuring nor harsh. Instead he simply looks sad. Aziraphale feels conflicted. “No, this is not a good idea, I’ll just go...” </p><p>He turns away from the demon. </p><p>Where? Where was he planning on going? His bookshop had been obliterated, and he was sure any of his acquaintances—loyal bookshop customers who he actually enjoyed visiting with— were probably all asleep by now. Plus, he didn’t know them well anyway. They weren’t people who he would call at this hour looking for somewhere to stay. And showing up on someone’s doorstep before proceeding to explain that your bookshop had been burned down and you were looking for somewhere to stay because you just stopped Armageddon was hardly a conversation starter.  There was no point in checking into a hotel. Who knew when his bookshop would be repaired?</p><p>Aziraphale looks back to Crowley. If he was being honest, he supposed, given everything that’s happened, he didn’t particularly want to be alone tonight. On the one hand, he is still trying to process, well, <em> everything, </em>and that didn’t just mean Armageddon. Yes, he’s lived alone for thousands of years. He enjoys solitude. But right now, he has nothing to go back to. The bookshop was his sanctuary, and even then, the idea of saving the world just to head back to a dark, empty building wasn’t very comforting. Trying to process saving the world was almost too much for one person to grasp. </p><p>“Well, it is up to you. I’ll be here if you need me,” Crowley says, and he takes a step towards Aziraphale. He extends his hand and rests it on Aziraphale’s shoulder with a gentle squeeze before walking quietly towards his bedroom, discarding his jacket on the chair. “Goodnight,” he calls over his shoulder.  </p><p>“Wait.” Aziraphale swallows hard. “Crowley?” </p><p>Crowley stops and turns. Aziraphale chews on his lower lip for a moment. “I think I’ll have that shower,” he says. </p>
<hr/><p>Crowley waits. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he rests his chin in his hands. <em> What a day </em>. He sighs. He needs to sleep. Demons don’t sleep in general, but he’s been on Earth for over six thousand years, and had been in the routine of sleeping every night up until the past few days. His corporation wasn’t used to breaking that, and he was beginning to feel it. </p><p>Crowley takes off his sunglasses and balances them on his index finger before tossing them onto the pillow and closing his eyes. He listens as the shower water runs down in the bathroom next door. Aziraphale is staying the night in his flat. Crowley panics for a moment as the gravity of that thought hits him. What if Aziraphale decides he doesn’t like Crowley’s flat? Or if the furniture is too uncomfortable? What if—</p><p>The shower water is turned off and there are a quick series of noises coming from the bathroom before the door opens and Aziraphale appears, dressed in a set of tartan pajamas. Crowley snorts. </p><p>“Oh my…” he murmurs, scanning Aziraphale up and down. </p><p>“What?” Aziraphale asks innocently. </p><p>“Nothing, nothing,” Crowley says, trying to hide a smirk that is threatening to make an appearance. “It’s just very...<em> tartan </em>,” </p><p>Aziraphale shrugs. “I don’t see the problem,” he says. </p><p>“There isn’t one,” Crowley reassures him as he makes his way towards the bathroom. “Be out in a minute,” he says.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re showering, too?” Aziraphale asks. </p><p>“Yeah,” Crowley answers. “Miracling only does half the job. I want a full clean, after...you know.” He gestures at his ash-covered physique. </p><p>With that, Crowley shuts the door, alone once again. He sighs deeply and turns the faucet knob, the hot water immediately beginning to fill the bathroom with steam. He steps in, and instantly feels the ash wash off of his skin. It is pure bliss, the way the water pours down him, sweeping the grime right off and instantly making him feel refreshed. It’s also a perfect time to get his thoughts together </p><p>This is what he knows: </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Number one: Aziraphale and him averted the apocalypse and are now spending the night together. </p>
  <p>Number two: Aziraphale is in his flat. </p>
  <p>Number three: Aziraphale is in his bedroom. </p>
  <p>Number four: Oh,<em> fuck</em>. </p>
</blockquote><p>Although, it’s not as though they were going to be in the same bed together. Crowley exhales. No, there is nothing to worry about. It will all be fine. </p><p>Crowley stands in the shower for a moment more, savoring it before finishing and stepping out to dry himself off. He can almost breathe easier now that he is clean, and his whole body feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. It also makes him feel ten times more tired than he was earlier and now he wants nothing more than to sleep for a month. </p><p>“You were gone for a while,” Aziraphale says when Crowley comes out. The demon is swathed in black silk and pads barefoot along the hardwood floor.<br/>
<br/>
“Sorry,” Crowley mumbles as he looks at the clock on his nightstand. Aziraphale was right—he was gone for over a half an hour. </p><p>“Don’t apologize,” Aziraphale says softly, looking at Crowley with what appeared to be sympathy. “I’m sure you feel much better now, yes?”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley nods. “I do.”</p><p>They sit in awkward silence for a long moment.<br/>
<br/>
“You sure you don’t want to take the bed?” Crowley then asks. </p><p>Aziraphale shakes his head. “No, you have it.” </p><p>Crowley stares at him with an arched eyebrow. “Right,” he says doubtfully.  </p><p>Aziraphale huffs. “Don’t tempt me,” he says. </p><p>“I’m not tempting you,” Crowley says, “I’ve known you for 6,000 years, and I know when you want something. Take the bed.” Crowley orders gently. </p><p>Aziraphale opens his mouth to argue but then shuts it. It’s a simple offer, and Crowley seems more than willing to let the angel be comfortable, so why not? </p><p>“Well, goodnight, then,” he says. </p><p>Crowley gives a single nod and a slight smile in return. “‘Night.” With a snap of his fingers, the lights have been flicked off. He shuts the door softly and heads for the sofa. The blanket is still draped over the back. Crowley flops down onto it, and lays the blanket on top of himself, sighing. He’s never tried sleeping on a sofa before. Usually it’s his bed, or a wall. Sometimes the ceiling. But now he is learning that this sofa is purely for aesthetic purposes. He should have known, really. Demons invented things like this, but it didn’t make it any more comfortable. </p><p>Crowley exhales and sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the sofa and onto the floor. He looks over at the window, taking in the lights of London. He really doesn’t like the city all that much, if he is being honest—he likes Manchester far better—but there was something about seeing London from this view that made him mind it less. It was quieter. Prettier. And still standing. That was the important one.<br/>
<br/>
“We really did that, huh,” he murmurs to himself. </p><p>“Did what?” a voice sounds from behind him. Crowley jumps slightly.  He turns around to see Aziraphale standing behind him leaning on the doorframe. His face is illuminated by the city lights, casting a low orange and yellow glow on his skin.<br/>
<br/>
“Saved the world,” Crowley answred. He paused for a moment and studied the angel. “What’s wrong?” </p><p>“Oh, nothing,” Aziraphale says, scratching his nose. “It’s just...how do you <em> do it </em> ?”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley looks puzzled. “You are going to have to be more specific, there, Angel.”<br/>
<br/>
“You know, <em> sleeping </em>?” </p><p>Crowley thinks for a moment. “Uh, I don’t know, you just...relax? It just sort of of happens, really.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh. Well. Uh. Yes,” Aziraphale says, trying his best to make it look like he understands. </p><p>“You’ve done it before, I know you have,” Crowley says. “You got rather good at it when we were living with the Dowling family.” </p><p>“Oh, right,” Aziraphale says distractedly.</p><p>Crowley stares at him for a long moment, the way he shifts from foot to foot, his eyes darting back and forth nervously. </p><p>“So it’s not just about sleeping.”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale looks up with an expression as though he has been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been. “What?”<br/>
<br/>
“Aziraphale, I know you. Something is wrong. You can tell me,” Crowley says softly. He sits for a long moment watching Aziraphale gather his thoughts. </p><p>“Can we—can we talk in there?” Aziraphale asks, pointing over his shoulder at Crowley’s bedroom. </p><p>“What, in the bedroom?” Crowley asks. </p><p>“Yes. Darker. Less confrontational. You know.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley nods slowly and stands, following the angel into the room. Aziraphale sits on the edge of the bed. Crowley sits next to him, but says nothing. </p><p>“The bookshop," Aziraphale begins. "It’s really gone?”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley feels his stomach sink as he tries to think of a way to sugarcoat the true answer. He opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it shut. No. Aziraphale is being honest right now, and he must be honest, too. </p><p>"Y-yes. It is. I’m so sorry,” Crowley says. </p><p>Aziraphale swallows. “How do you know that?” </p><p>Crowley glances at Aziraphale before wringing his hands out in front of him. “I went looking for you. I wanted to apologize for what I had said to you at the bandstand. And when I went there...”<br/>
“It was gone. Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale says, realizing what had awaited Crowley when he got to the bookshop. </p><p>“What?” Crowley says softly, but failing to hide his shock. “What—Aziraphale, look at me,” he says with a fierceness that he hopes doesn’t startle Aziraphale but at least grabs his attention. “You have nothing to be sorry for. At all. Nothing.”<br/>
<br/>
“Except I do,” Aziraphale says, sounding helpless and broken. “I should have called you first. I went to the Archangels, I put Heaven—I put <em> Gabriel </em> before you. We could have figured it out together. Instead I brushed you off and went on my own, and look at what happened,” he gives a humorless chuckle. Crowley can feel his heart shatter into a million peices.   </p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Crowley tries, though he knows it’s useless.<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale shakes his head. “It <em> is, </em>Crowley. It is my fault. The bookshop fire was too.” Crowley is at a loss for words. He has no idea why Aziraphale would even consider the possibility that the fire was his fault. From what Crowley could see, it didn’t seem that he even knew about the fire until Crowley had told him about it in the pub. He can not see why Aziraphale would take the blame for something that wasn’t his fault, but he didn’t ask. There are simply some things that cannot be said, this being one of them. “I put you in the position of thinking I was…” he trails off. </p><p>Crowley inches closer to him on the mattress. “Oh, Aziraphale,” he murmurs. It’s only when he hears a quiet sniffle that Crowley feels like he has been stabbed in the chest. He fights the urge to look at Aziraphale valiantly, but fails. He sees a couple silent tears roll down the angels face before Aziraphale’s arm snaps up to wipe them away. </p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m pouring all of this onto you. You are so tired, I know, and it’s late and—”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” Crowley says simply. “Let it out. It’s okay.” Crowley doesn’t know what time it is; he doesn’t care. He can feel the exhaustion continuing to weigh in on him, but he ignores it. He will stay with Aziraphale for as long as the angel needs. He won’t fail him. Aziraphale is always there for him whenever he needs refuge, and so Crowley knows that he must repay that debt. </p><p>“What would you like me to do?” Crowley asks as he looks at the broken and vulnerable angel in front of him. “I’ll do anything.” <em> I’ll do anything to make your pain stop.  </em></p><p>“Just be here,” Aziraphale replies in a crumpled voice. “And don’t leave.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley nods. “Always.” </p><p>“Thank you,” he says.</p><p> Crowley smiles gently. “Don’t mention it, Angel.”</p><p>Aziraphale averts his eyes slightly, and then looks back to Crowley. “I think I would like to sleep now,” he says.<br/>
<br/>
“Alright,” says Crowley in response. He contemplates getting up to go back into the other room, but stops and looks at Aziraphale. “Would you mind if we shared?” he asks. “I mean, I understand if you don’t want to of course, but that sofa is <em> really </em> uncomfortable and—”<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t mind, Crowley,” Aziraphale says. “We can share.” </p><p><em> Looks like we are sharing the bed after all, </em> Crowley thinks. </p>
<hr/><p>Aziraphale lays on his back, body as straight as a steel pole under the covers. Even after averting Armageddon and having a mental breakdown in his best friends arms, laying so close to him under a duvet seemed <em> very </em> intimate. He feels slightly apprehensive, and can feel the same uncertainty radiating off Crowley. </p><p>“Never shared a bed with anyone before,” Crowley says, breaking the silence. Aziraphale turns his head to look at him. His sharp nose is pointed straight up in the air, eyes focused on a random spot on the ceiling.  </p><p>“No. Nor have I,” Aziraphale says. </p><p>“First time for everything, I suppose.”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale nods in agreement. </p><p>“Right.” Crowley flips onto his side, so that he is now facing Aziraphale. He shuts his eyes and is quiet for a long period of time, so long that it makes Aziraphale think Crowley has fallen asleep until the demon speaks in a low voice. </p><p>“They’re going to come for us,” he says. </p><p>Aziraphale is taken aback. “Who, Heaven and Hell?”</p><p>Crowley nods. “You can’t just evade a war with them and expect them to just walk away like nothing happened. They’re going to be looking for revenge.” </p><p>“How do you think they will do that?” Aziraphale asks, a touch worried. </p><p>“That’s what I don’t know. Agnes Nutter’s prophecy didn’t tell us that part.”<br/>
<br/>
“‘For soon you will be playing with fyre’,” Aziraphale murmurs. </p><p>“What does that even mean?” Crowley exclaimed as he punched the mattress with annoyance. </p><p>“Fire, fire, fire…” Aziraphale says. “Unless…” His eyes go wide. “Oh. No.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley looks at Aziraphale with alarm. “What?” he says carefully. </p><p>“Playing with fire. Could she mean <em> hellfire </em>?” </p><p>Crowley sucks in a breath. “Er...I mean, that <em> is </em>the only way to get rid of angels. Permanently,” he adds. </p><p>Aziraphale fiddles with the bed sheet. “And the only way to kill a demon is—”</p><p>“Holy water,” Crowley finishes. “Shit.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes,” Aziraphale concurs in a grave voice. He sits up, and adjusts the pillows. “Wonderful,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “We cannot sleep until we figure this out, Crowley.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley props himself up onto his elbow. “They won’t come until tomorrow. They’ll be too busy plotting.”<br/>
<br/>
“Choose your faces wisely…” Aziraphale thinks for a moment. “You’re not going to like this idea, but it’s all I’ve got,” Aziraphale says, his gaze hard and determined. </p><p>“Okay…” Crowley begins, looking slightly unsure. </p><p>“There is an old trick that some of the other angels used to do in Heaven. I’m sure demons could do it too, after all, most of you <em> are </em>fallen—” Crowley shoots him a look.</p><p> “Sorry,” he mumbles quickly but sincerely. “We used to swap.”<br/>
<br/>
“You used to swap,” Crowley says.  “As in swap <em> bodies </em>?”</p><p>“Precisely,” Aziraphale says. “What if <em> we </em> did that? You’re a demon. Hellfire has no affect on you, just like holy water has no affect on me. If we acted like each other, we could have them fooled!”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley stares at the wall for a minute, processing Aziraphale’s words. “It could work,” he says finally, “and I can’t think of anything better.”<br/>
<br/>
“Should we practice, do you think?” Aziraphale asks. </p><p>“Tomorrow, maybe.” He shrugs. “We’ve got time.”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale nods, looking satisfied. He settles back down next to Crowley. “Good.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley exhales. “It will be okay,” he says, trying to reassure both himself and Aziraphale. </p><p>“I do hope so,” Aziraphale says. He closes his eyes for a moment, pulling on the duvet. He hears Crowley grunt beside him. </p><p>“Cover hog, are you?” Crowley teases. </p><p>“Your flat is cold.”</p><p>“Why do you think I have so many blankets?”<br/>
<br/>
“If you have so many then why does it matter if I have this one?”<br/>
<br/>
“Because I’m tired and I don’t feel like getting up to go get one.<br/>
<br/>
“Just miracle yourself one.”<br/>
<br/>
“Too much thought process.”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale laughs softly. “This room could do with more tartan, I think,” he jokes. </p><p>“No. Oh, please, no,” Crowley replies, sounding genuinely fearful. </p><p>“You better be careful, then,” Aziraphale quips. </p><p>Crowley sighs dramatically. “And what if I’m not careful?” </p><p>“It’s very likely that you’ll come home to find tartan curtains one day,”<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll watch my back, then.” Crowley says. </p><p>“Do you snore?” Aziraphale asks. </p><p>“Now you’re just finding things to poke fun at me for,” Crowley says. </p><p>“No, genuine question, do you?”<br/>
<br/>
“No,” Crowley says in a tone that makes it sound like it’s obvious. </p><p>“We’ll see about that,” Aziraphale fires back. “You should know,” he starts, “that if you do, I’m never going to let you live it down.”<br/>
<br/>
“Great,” says Crowley, “so I’ll have another six thousand years of you casually bringing that up in conversation?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, no, my dear. <em>Blackmail</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
“You wouldn’t dare,” Crowley says dramatically. </p><p>“We’ll have to see. For now though, I am quite tired. Do you think we could go to sleep, now?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, I think we can,” Crowley confirms. The pair shift under the covers, adjusting the pillows and sheets into a more comfortable position for sleeping and are quiet for a moment. </p><p>“This is quite nice,” Aziraphale whispers. </p><p>“Yeah, I think so, too,” Crowley agrees. </p><p>“Well. Goodnight, Crowley,” Aziraphale says into the darkness. “Don’t snore.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll do my best,” Crowley retorts with sarcasm. “Goodnight.” </p><p>“Oh,” says Aziraphale, “and Crowley?”<br/>
<br/>
“Hmm, yeah, Aziraphale,” he mumbles, his voice growing heavy as sleep begins to overtake him. </p><p>“Thank you.”<br/>
<br/>
“Anytime, Angel.” </p><p>And so they sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. I would absolutely love it if you left feedback. It's always nice to see an email saying I've got kudos, and comments are my lifeblood, lol. They're very encouraging!i You can come find me on tumblr: @ineffable-yikes and Twitter: @elxetera<br/>I'd love to talk to you guys :) </p><p>Thank you so much for reading and commenting if you did! I appreciate all of you so much!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>